


A Quiet Night

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson needs to laugh more, F/M, Flirting, Nice night, Post-Nothing Personal, Public Nudity, Resolved Sexual Tension, Swimming, skoulsonfest2k14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Nothing Personal. Coulson returns outside to sit with Skye and enjoy the nice night. There is swimming. </p><p>Skoulsonfest2k14 Day 6 Prompt "Nice Night."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Night

Coulson sits on his hotel bed after May’s departure and stares into space. It feels like literally _all_ he can manage. And in between the fear and the self-loathing comes an unwelcome feeling of guilt, of Skye’s voice reminding him that _at least we’re in the dark together_.

He doesn’t want to tell her this. But neither can he fathom the idea of leaving her alone in the dark by herself.

(Or is it dragging her further into the dark with him?)

The sound of splashing in the pool beyond his window draws him outside — he isn’t sure whether it’s the desire for any company to take his mind off of things, or whether it’s the specific hope that it will be her.

(That's a lie. He left her by the pool, and he hopes it’s still her.)

He’s gratified that when he enters the pool area, he’s greeted by Skye’s head popping out of the deep end, hair slicked back around her head.

“Hey, AC,” she greets him as she wipes her eyes. There are lights in the pool that illuminate parts of the water, but she’s in a shadow.

“Skye,” he nods back, and takes a seat on one of the lounge chairs. He’s barefoot, stripped down to a t-shirt and his slacks, and he wonders if it looks strange to her to see him like this.

She looks awkward for a moment, bobbing in the pool and licking chlorine off her lips, and then she swims to the edge closest to him and props her chin up in the side.

“I saw May,” she says conversationally. Coulson nods. “Is everything...okay with her, now?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Before...I think I was unfair. She had orders to keep an eye on me, and not to tell me potentially dangerous information. I would have done the same thing in her shoes.”

“No,” Skye corrects him, “you wouldn’t have.”

Their eyes lock, and she tilts her head.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you told me about Agent Avery and Agent Lumley, even though it was dangerous. Even though you thought I’d be better off if I didn’t know.” She shrugs, and he sees a glimpse of her shoulder rise above the side of the pool for a moment and slip back under the water.

“I thought you deserved to know the truth.”

“That’s the kind of man you are,” she tells him, quiet assurance in her voice that makes him close his eyes, breathe deeply. He wants more than anything (has _always wanted_ more than anything) to be the kind of man Skye thinks he is.

“May brought something that you need to see.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he answers. Relief. “Tomorrow would be good.”

“Good.” Skye is silent for several beats, and he can hear the sound of her splashing, moving around by the side of the pool. “I’m kind of enjoying myself tonight.”

He opens his eyes and smiles at her, soft and relaxed, and it feels like all of the things eating at him don’t matter so much when he’s in her company. He can breathe comfortably for the first time since he watched himself give a report to Nick Fury. 

“I’m glad. You deserve to enjoy yourself.” She went through hell today, and he thinks he probably could have prevented it if only he’d been more observant. If only he’d listened to the concerns she and May had both expressed. Of course, he’ll never tell her how much he feels it’s _his fault_ — will never make it her job to reassure him in the wake of her own terror — but it’s comforting just to see her relaxed and happy.

“You deserve to enjoy yourself, too,” Skye points out. “You saved me today.”

“I just unlocked the door,” Coulson corrects her, and Skye smiles.

“And if you hadn’t, I’d still be there.” She drops her eyes from his. He can see the memory of terror bleeding in, see her struggling to interpret, compartmentalize, accept everything that’s happened today. “He wasn’t going to kill me.”

She says it like death would have been preferable, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut and draw in a deep breath. Skye should never have to know the kind of terror that makes death seem preferable. He feels suddenly close to tears — the hot sting behind his eyes and nose — and tries to swallow it back.

“But you came to get me.” As though there was ever a chance that he wouldn’t. As though he would ever sacrifice anyone, least of all her.

“Of course I did,” he answers, his voice not quite steady, but Skye’s smile is dazzling. He gets it — she’s not used to being valued, not used to being someone that people go out of their way for.

He stands up, then, and walks towards the pool, wanting to be closer to her. She looks nervous for a moment, hugging the wall as he rolls up his pant legs past his knees and sits down next to her with his feet dangling into the water. Skye smiles at him as he gets comfortable, though her features are dim in the darkness.

It feels good — almost the same temperature as the warm night air, and he closes his eyes as he relaxes next to her. He opens his eyes at the feeling of her hand running from his ankle up to his knee, fingernails tracing circles in his leg hair.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your legs,” she says, conversationally, as though they aren’t transgressing several boundaries. (But then, he started it. He started it when he sat here and hoped she would touch him.)

“I wear shorts to work out all the time.”

“On your own private treadmill, you mean?”

Coulson smiles at that.

“I think it’s best for team morale to only see me when I’m...put together.”

She nods once, as though she understands his reasoning but disagrees with the premise, and then disappears under the water briefly, only to pop her head back up between his legs. He can barely see the outline of her body under the water, and he shivers when her hands land on each of his ankles.

“So, the fact that you’re letting me see you when you’re not put together...that’s special?”

“Perhaps,” he answers, trying to hold back a pleased smile.

“Special enough that you’ll let me call you _Phil_ , now?”

It’s charged — way too intense — and all Coulson can manage is a nod.

He looks down into her eyes, which sparkle under the fairy lights strung up behind them, and has to fight off the urge to tell her _how_ special she is. Her lips part, though, as though she’s seen something in his gaze.

“The water’s really nice,” she tells him, deadpan. Like it’s conversation, like she isn’t flirting. Like she isn’t trying to draw him in with her. Like it isn’t incredibly tempting.

“Yes, it is.” He waves his legs a little, feels her fingers slip around his ankles.

She frowns at him, and he closes his eyes before he does what she wants and just jumps in fully dressed.

“It _is_ a nice night,” he offers.

“It’s a nice night _for swimming_ ,” she answers pointedly, and he smiles down at her. It’s much too tempting, and he can’t find it in himself to tell her he doesn’t want to — to lie to her. (He wants to never lie to her.)

“I don’t have a suit.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together for a moment as she considers him, and then she pushes off the wall, out of the shadow where she’s been hiding and back into the middle of the deep end of the pool. She’s carefully positioned so that one of the spotlights illuminates her body.

Her very naked body.

He can make out her breasts just beneath the surface of the water, the dips and curves and valleys of the rest of her body, the endless length of her legs.

A flush of heat sweeps over him and he groans — a soft, longing sound that he can’t bite back. His body responds instantly, a rush of blood to his groin that nearly makes him lightheaded.

“Get in,” she tells him, and Coulson shakes his head in the negative even though he can’t seem to move his eyes off of her.

“I think that might be a bad idea.”

“I disagree,” she answers. “I think it would be a _great_ idea.”

“I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself,” he warns her, and Skye laughs.

“You promise?”

She swims forward again, back between his legs, but this time she doesn’t hide herself beneath the water. Hands planted on the side of the pool (between his legs, too close to the throbbing evidence of his arousal), she pulls herself up so that bare shoulders, bare collar bone, bare breasts become visible. Her whole chest is flushed, her nipples peaked, and Coulson licks his lips as he watches water run down the curves of her. He clenches his jaw against the urge to lean forward and lick her — any part of her.

“Skye,” he whispers, already feeling like he’s taking advantage of her. He can’t remember the last time just the _sight_ of a woman affected him this strongly.

“Get in,” she tells him again. And again he shakes his head.

“After the day you’ve had…”

“After the day I’ve had, I’d like a man to do exactly what I ask him to do,” she tells him, voice verging on confrontational.

It is all kinds of hot.

“I can do that,” he tells her, almost without thinking.

“Then take off your clothes and get in the pool.”

So he does. He struggles to his feet, pulls his shirt over his head and unbuckles his belt, then lets his pants and boxers drop. He’s hard — all the way hard, so hard the head of his cock is nearly brushing his belly button — and as he walks back towards the pool, Skye licks her lips and shoots him a dirty grin.

“Very nice, sir.”

Her frank appraisal makes him blush, even though he’s never been shy about things like this.

She swims towards the center of the pool, where the water is just deep enough that she can stand while still being covered, and watches as he steps into the warm water and walks towards her.

“Skye,” he whispers her name as he comes to stand right in front of her. His hands itch to touch her, but he holds them to his sides, trying to swallow back his intense lust. It’s strange to let himself _want_ this openly, and he can’t say he entirely understands where this will go — where Skye wants it to go.

And then she splashes him in the face and ducks under the water, leaving him spitting out a mouth of water and wiping down his face. Her foot kicks out, splashes him again, and Coulson grins before chasing after her.

Skye avoids him easily, darting from one side of the pool to the other, coming up to splash him in the face and then submerging again. She’s clearly spent more time in swimming pools that he has because she is much better at this. Still, he dives after her, sputtering at every face full of water and feeling more than a little foolish but also having a great time.

When he finally manages to get a good splash in her face she looks shocked and proud, and then the tables turn and he finds himself being chased by Skye.

She flips behind him and jumps on his back, forcing him under water, and as he struggles to the surface he can hear her laughter. He’s aware of her naked body pressed against him, can feel her breasts on his shoulder blades, but the sound of her laughing is better than any of that.

He turns quickly, and manages to catch hold of her ankle and haul her back against him, and when she pops up against him — in his arms — he’s surprised to find that he’s laughing. A deep laugh, from his belly, that feels almost foreign.

Skye smiles up at him, teeth and eyes sparkling in the dim light. His laughter fades as he looks down at her, and he just feels...full.

“You don’t laugh enough,” she tells him, almost mimicking his thoughts on the matter.

“I know.”

“We should change that.”

“Yeah.”

He smiles at her use of _we_ , but is still surprised when Skye reaches forward to cup his face in her hands. Slowly, as though she’s worried he’ll object, she leans in until her lips are a hair’s breadth from his, but she forces him to be the one that closes the gap between them.

Which he does. He presses forward and captures her lower lip, sucks in a gasping breath at how good even that slight contact feels.

The kiss is soft at first, a wet slide of lips that quickly grows heated as she presses her body up against his.

Coulson groans against her and has to restrain himself from grabbing her, from running his hands all over her body and pushing them closer together. It’s flustering to find himself wanting her this much — this badly — because the truth is that he doesn’t think about her like this. Not naked and writhing and _wanting him_. Especially not wanting him.

When he thinks about her — and he _does_ think about her, more than he should — it’s never with ideas as fully-formed as the desire to kiss her, and it’s certainly never with the idea that she would want to kiss him. It’s never occurred to him that this, this kind of relationship between them, is something he is _allowed_ to want.

But these desires have still been there, unacknowledged and unconsidered, and they come to the forefront as her breasts drag across his chest and her lips desperately seek his and her hands clutch at his face and his neck and his shoulders and his arms.

“I thought you weren’t going to keep your hands to yourself,” she whispers.

He inhales a shaky breath against her lips at the permission — at the request — and his hands slide to her lower back. He lifts her easily, the buoyancy provided by the water working on his side, and Skye wraps her legs around his waist so that every movement of her hips drags the head of his cock over her clitoris.

They both moan as their lips meet again, her whole body moving against his as their kiss heats up. Now that he’s touching her, he finds it impossible to stop — hands moving from back to butt to breasts almost too quickly, trying to touch all of her.

When Skye breaks away for a deep breath, Coulson’s eyes are drawn down to her breasts, and he uses his hands on her butt to push her up — enough that he can wrap his tongue around a nipple, close his teeth down incrementally harder, and listen to her reactions. The sound of her moaning, whimpering, calling his name is unbearably arousing, and he’s almost annoyed when she breaks away from him and swims backwards

“My room is right over there,” she tells him, pointing down the open hallways unnecessarily. He knows where her room is, and they both know his is closer.

“Mine’s closer,” he informs her, sort of pleased with her answering grin, as though he’s just passed a test.

“Let’s go there, then.”

He nods. With the public nature of the pool suddenly brought to his awareness, he’s anxious to get inside, too. They gather their clothes in a rush — he’s almost certain they forget or drop at least one article — and race for his door, only to be held up when he has to dig through his pants to find the room key. Skye laughs as he fumbles with the garment in his arms, and she makes the situation no easier when she leans in to place a trail of kisses up his neck.

“Not helping,” he informs her, almost brusque, but Skye just laughs at him.

“Helping plenty.” Her hand closes around his cock. He groans and leans in to kiss her, is stopped only when he finally grasps the roomkey from his right back pocket.

Their clothes are dropped into a pile as they collapse together on the queen bed closest to the door, a tangle of naked limbs attached at the mouths.

“Tell me what you want,” he requests, and Skye pulls back, panting.

“I want you to make me come.”

Her words send a fresh throb of arousal through his body; he has to close his eyes and take a breath to keep himself in check.

“Yes,” he breathes, although she didn’t actually ask a question. “How?”

“Your mouth.”

Coulson dives forward with more enthusiasm than she has probably counted on, if her sharp squeal of surprise is any measure, but she laughs as he buries his face between her legs, stops laughing only when his tongue makes a thorough circuit.

He’s disappointed when he tastes chlorine instead of her arousal, but he quickly sets himself to the task of pushing his tongue as far inside of her as he can get it. It only takes a moment before he finally tastes _her_. It’s almost more than he can handle in his hyper-aroused state, especially when Skye moans his name and runs her fingernails through his hair.

“God, like that,” she whimpers, tilts her hips more, and lets herself get caught up in the moment.

Coulson devotes himself entirely to his task, and when Skye comes, it’s with her fingers digging into his scalp, his tongue inside her, his whole face pressed against her. She’s almost silent, just her hips thrusting off the bed as she whimpers his name, but it drives him closer to his own finish than he’d like to be.

He’s gentle with her as she comes down, swirling his tongue and lapping at her, and then just rubbing his face along her inner thighs.

When she’s caught her breath, she tugs him up over her and kisses him without hesitation, wraps her hand around his cock as she chases his tongue into his mouth. His arms shake as he supports himself with his hands on either side of her head, as he tries to kiss her while also keeping enough room between their torsos for her hand to work.

It takes embarrassingly little — a few strokes of her hand, the feel of her underneath him, the lingering taste of her — before he’s _there_ , groaning into her mouth and spilling across her stomach.

“Skye,” he whispers her name reverently as he comes, is immensely gratified when she answers with:

“Phil.”

He wishes he had asked her to call him by his name _such_ a long time ago.

A few more kisses, and he lets himself drop to the bed beside her, still gasping for breath.

“So, I’m thinking shower and then sleep,” Skye tells him a few minutes later, and he nods his agreement.

“And...you don’t mind if I do both of those things here?”

Coulson furrows his eyebrows at her, unable to understand how she could think otherwise.

“Of course.”

“Because it’s okay if this is just —”

“It’s not.”

“No?”

“Skye, I…” He doesn’t really know how to finish the sentence, has yet to wrap his head around what this means. But when their eyes meet, she holds his gaze for a moment and then slowly smiles at him, clearly pleased with whatever she sees there.

“Good, then.”

She kisses him again, leaving no doubt about her own feelings on the matter.

And they’re still facing so much, some of it immediate and some of it long term, but the important part is that they are going to face it together.

 


End file.
